


Flight or Fall

by squire



Series: Everything Of Me [3]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Body Paint, D/s, Dominant Hux, Flirting, Hux has surprise emotion, Jealousy, Jewellery, Kylo Amidala, M/M, Orgasm Delay, Porn with Feelings, Power Bottom Hux, Submissive Kylo Ren
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-05-31 01:41:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6450337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squire/pseuds/squire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Of course, he’d already noticed how physically affectionate this race is. They are still raptors, roosting high in the mountains and preying upon the plains below, their eyes attuned to long-distance recognition. Up close, they can’t see very well, and instead they resort to touching. Hux has seen them brushing against each other, standing close and rubbing sides, laying heads on each other’s shoulders, long necks entwining.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <em>They have been giving him the wide berth out of respect to the Emperor, but they have no such qualms when it comes to his courtiers.</em></p><p> </p><p>  <em>And said courtier - his courtier - is basking in the attention. Toying with it. Toying with Hux.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

It all starts with the heat. Later, when Hux reflects on it, he will blame the atrocious, blood-clotting, patience-peeling heat for this particular slip. But that will be later. Now he slowly walks the stone-paved floor of the embassy dining hall, the skin between his toes itching from the sweat gathered on his feet, and he tries not to imagine - or worse, to actually hear - the soft squelching sound his shoes must emit on every step.

He could stay standing still but that would feel too much like a jar in a pressure cooker. He already had to replace his usual personal guard, consisting mainly of Chiss warriors, by an elite Dashade unit. The reptilian ability to dissipate heat is currently the only thing that keeps them from being cooked alive in their armours.

The weather on this damn planet is so hot that the rains in coastal regions are solid salt powder falling from the sky, the liquid having evaporated back before the drops could hit the ground. The capital, including the newly built embassy, are - thankfully - located quite high in the mountains. The locals had to tear down a chunk of the mountainside to build an airstrip for the Imperial shuttle. The nearest natural landing field would be several hundred feet below, on the plains, and Hux isn't sure he would survive the land trip. Even if there were roads to speed up the journey, which of course there aren't.

The Lady of Wind, as her official title goes, waddles up to Hux and tilts her head gracefully, the scorching white light from the windows diffracting on the short, thick feathering on her long neck in glints of every colour imaginable. She titters and chirps, large black eyes straining to focus on him at such a close distance. A protocol droid materialises at her side, launching into interpretation.

"Is everything to your liking, Your Majesty?"

Lower the temperature of this room for about twenty degrees and it might be, thinks Hux.

He sips on his drink of ionic water. The mouthful doesn't even reach his stomach, getting soaked up through the membranes inside his mouth already, and immediately fresh pearls of sweat break out on the back of his neck. Brilliant. Emperor Hux, functioning as a tankless water heater.

"Your hospitality is excellent, my lady. I feel that the agreement between your people and the Empire couldn't have started on better terms."

Hux is already considering which diplomat of his court he likes the least. The embassy building has been designed with respect to basic human ergonomics and physiology and is equipped with state-of-art air conditioning but the permanent diplomatic representation on this newly acquired planet will still be a penalty duty, he can tell.

The local political and religious leader at once jerks her head back, shoulder plumes fluffed, wings spread into an arch above her hips and lower back. It would be a sign of aggression, coming from a male, but from a female, it is the expression of delighted approval. She waddles away, crooning to herself, and the protocol droid follows her, dutifully recording everything. Hux will review the files later. After a cold shower back at the flagship.

Hux is about to fetch himself another drink, even though by now he feels that his very blood must have been replaced with water, when he glimpses a familiar figure entering the dining hall.

One look, and Hux is glad that he hasn't grabbed the drink yet. It would end on the floor, a quickly evaporating spill amidst scattered glass shards.

The sheer size of the entrance, built to accommodate beings with wings spanning three times the body length on either side, would have dwarfed even Kylo Ren's usual towering, menacingly looming figure. Except that there is nothing towering or menacing about Kylo today. His black, layered robes and his helmet are gone - an understandable choice, considering the weather.

But where Hux opted for - although light, and loosely cut, but still his usual, three-piece Emperor's attire (now soaked through with sweat and grating at his skin with every move), Kylo is now parading through the hall in a set of clothes entirely deferential to local fashion customs. Which could be roughly described as 'the less, the better'.

The evolution that straightened the spines of these avian beings and gave them prehensile, clawed fingers at the last joint of their wings that allows them to handle tools, had also civilised them enough that they aren't strangers to the concept of wearing clothes. Though they display their neck and chest plumage proudly, their loins and upper legs are usually covered with light fabric, thin and slippery as to not get caught on the feathering. Their clothes are backless, as no stretch of fabric could ever accommodate those ever-twitching and ruffling wings, and they are very fond of glittery jewellery, usually contained to fancy headpieces that flutter and jingle with every quick jerk of their head.

A curtain of strings, heavy with shiny pieces of gold, now shields the left side of Kylo's face, like a sprig of golden rain tucked playfully into the elaborate braiding of his black, lustrous hair. It leaves his right cheek, the one with the scar, exposed - but the scar is hidden, as usual, under a layer of white make-up. The usual colour scheme accompanying it is different today: twin lines under his eyes, boldly curving at the outer corners, lend him an almost hawk-like appearance, and the line splitting his lips in the middle continues all over his chin and down onto his neck. He looks like a dangerous creature: like a bird of prey.

But it's not the face, a clever mixture of Kylo's own heritage and flattering regard of local customs, that sets Hux's core temperature even higher than the blood-thirsty air around here ever could.

It's the rest of his attire. Namely, the obvious lack of it.

The neckline of the top, if worn by an avian, would be filled out by the distinctively protruding breastbone and all those extensively developed muscles needed for an independent flight. On Kylo, the collar falls freely over the hard planes of his pectorals and ends somewhere under his solar plexus. Not that it would make any difference - the fabric is practically see-through, and Hux can watch the shift of Kylo's abs as he walks and even the trail of dark hair leading from his navel and disappearing in a low-wrapped golden belt. His trousers are equally airy, reaching - quite modestly - down to his ankles - but with a deceptive slit on each trouser leg going up all the way, showing off Kylo's calves and thighs.

When Kylo turns around, it's clear that the lack of wings hadn't implied the need to cover his back - at least to the tailor of this atrocity.

The background murmur of chirps and croaks nearly stops. A good half-hundred of black, diamond-sharp eyes zoom in on this new, unexpected addition to the party. And then they start to flock.

Really, Hux has no better word to describe it. It seems that every avian in this building has an urgent need to admire the leader of the Knights of Ren, at least for a moment. He doesn't need a protocol droid to decipher the meaning of their excited tittering. They are fascinated.

It takes Hux several seconds to pinpoint the reason: they've never seen so much skin.

Sure, they have met basic humans before. Including Hux. But bare hands and faces don't come across as odd to them, as they too have lost most of their feathering on these places, leaving behind corneous skin covering their elongated jaws filled with tiny, needle-sharp teeth and their nimble, but equally deadly claws. But the rest of their bodies is covered with feathers, the more colourful the more virile its owner, and they still wear clothes so they don't think of bare skin immediately in terms of nakedness, and yet...

Kylo's vauntingly displayed expanse of olive skin is exotic to them. And abruptly, Hux remembers an old saying.

What's exotic is usually erotic.

Kylo struts through the hall, barefoot and cock-sure, swaying his hips ever so slightly. Most of the females and a considerable number of males are flocking around him, like hens after a grain of corn. Staring. Preening. And - Hux notices with dark twinge of possessiveness - touching.

Of course, he'd already noticed how physically affectionate this race is. They are still raptors, roosting high in the mountains and preying upon the plains below, their eyes attuned to long-distance recognition. Up close, they can't see very well, and instead they resort to touching. Hux has seen them brushing against each other, standing close and rubbing sides, laying heads on each other's shoulders, long necks entwining.

They have been giving him the wide berth out of respect to the Emperor, but they have no such qualms when it comes to his courtiers.

And said courtier - _his_ courtier - is basking in the attention. Toying with it. Toying with Hux.

 

 


	2. II

A month ago, such a scenario would be unimaginable. Kylo used to attend open court and diplomatic gatherings out of duty, hiding his discomfort either behind his mask or under elaborate Naboonian make-up and robes. Always wrapped up in layers upon layers. Under such an assault of attention, the old Kylo would act like a monolith - incomprehensive at best and defensive at worst. The foreboding, void stare coming off the mask of Knights of Ren would quickly turn every admiration into fear. His other face, expensively colourful and meticulously artificial, that royal courtier persona, would be equally unresponsive. Compliments used to slide off him like off a wall of glass, wilting pitifully at his feet.

That old Kylo would react like a spooked horse if someone touched him with a flirtatious intent. Hux had assumed at first that it was due to his natural coyness, sexual inexperience coupled with emotional immaturity - the man had come into the Emperor's bed a virgin, after all. It was only later Hux discovered that this odd reserve was stemming from deep, yearning feeling of insecurity in his relationship with Hux. Early into their _thing_ , Hux had assumed Kylo only needed the outlet, pain and submission to silence the clashing demons of his mind. He did not deem it necessary to make Kylo feel accepted, wanted, owned - even that one word that should follow naturally after the previous three but Hux slams the mental door on it every time it comes up - but above all, _safe_.

But that has changed. A month ago, Kylo had discovered the Emperor's jealous streak - a mistake that is going to be Hux's undoing, he is certain of it. And yet he can't bring himself to mind, most of the time. Now Kylo is indeed feeling very much safe, if he is willing to play such a charade.

And from the way his mauve upper lip curls the tiniest bit upwards when Kylo fleetingly catches Hux's gaze before he deliberately turns his back on him, Hux knows that he's enjoying it.

Ren's back is a source of endless fascination among the natives. Apparently it's one thing to understand that there exist wingless beings and completely another thing to actually see with their own eyes that yes, there aren't even the tiniest winglets sprouting between those shoulder blades, not even a single feather. Even barefoot, the Knight is tall enough that the boldest of the avians can let their contour feathers surreptitiously trail down the dip of his spine without even trying to make it look like an accident. The old Kylo would Force-summon his lightsaber and cut the offender in two. This new Kylo just looks over his shoulder and graces them with a half of a smile, the other half meant for the Emperor.

Left to admire the smooth musculature and proud carriage of Ren's back with the rest of the hall, Hux briefly regrets that he's never once indulged Ren in his demands, pleas, his best perfected begging to be marked. Just a week ago Kylo had come to him, sullen and frustrated after a failed attempt to get more in tune with the Force (or whatever he calls his mystic meditation drills), and all but begged for the flogger. Hux remembers the way he kept arching his back into the blows, silently asking for more, for Hux to hit him harder, for his master to make him bleed - but Hux's will was iron. Now he wishes it wasn't: a criss-crossing pattern of thin, reddish stripes all over his back would make Ren reconsider his choice of outfit. Although, on second thought... Knowing Ren, he would probably flaunt it. With gusto.

The protocol droid, interpreting for Ren's benefit, is having a hard time to get through the slowly thickening circle of excited, ruffled, boasting avians. The constant touching is a cultural thing, Hux reminds himself. These exclusive carnivores aren't out there for Ren's flesh, either literally or metaphorically.

The jingling gold pieces in front of Kylo's face get caught in another female's adornment when she puts her head practically on his shoulder, and Kylo laughs and uses the Force to disentangle them. The crooning and twittering around them intensifies. Hux's drink slips an inch in between his fingers, his hold on the smooth glass becoming too slippery with sweat.

"Be careful with your drink, you Majesty. Hydration is very important in this weather." Ren has somehow slipped out of the circle of his admirers and is now walking leisurely towards the Emperor, his usual stomping gait replaced with a rolling prowl. It reminds Hux of a manka cat he'd seen in the jungle on U-Tendik, the fall of soft paws soundless on the forest floor. Ren's mauve-lined eyes shine with silent laughter.

 _You will pay for this_ , Hux thinks as loudly as he can.

 _Looking forward to it_ , echoes from Ren. Aloud, he remarks: "If you're satisfied with your inspection of the embassy facilities, there's no reason to prolong our visit. I inspected the location of the cortosis deposits earlier this week. The area is hard to access but nothing the Imperial heavy machinery can't deal with. I assume the profit from mining here would soon outweigh any extra acquisition costs."

Hux nods, grateful that he has been spared the tedium of terrain inspection. He would have of course used an air-conditioned hovercraft to get there but... wait. How did Ren get there? The natives were very anxious about their airspace, outright demanding the authorisation of every single shuttle flight, and Hux is certain that the Lady of Wind hasn't allowed any hovercraft ride this entire week.

"You can't actually fly using the Force, can you?"

Hux knows he's sounding slightly ridiculous - blame the heat - but he's seen Ren jump. Twenty feet vertical or twice as much horizontal, with no apparent effort. The stretch to sustained flight isn't so big, now, is it? Hux is willing to believe it - blame the damned heat - because the alternative is that Ren has been carried there by one of those raptors, probably strapped to their front and with their grabby paws all over him–

"It's not far from here," Ren says with barely concealed mirth in his voice. "I had a Z-6 jetpack to give me the initial lift and the locals gave me a delta wing to glide the rest. It's an amazing experience - the air currents around the mountain peaks and along the slopes can make for a really long flight, when you are lucky. You should try it. It's... calming."

Hux can't help it. "You seem to be very favoured by the natives."

"They have pleasing minds," Ren agrees, feigning ignorance of Hux's frayed tone. "Focused, simple, predacious. Savages, really, but very straightforward and honest."

That, too, is good to know, Hux muses. The cortosis deposits, recently discovered on this backwater and otherwise entirely unimportant planet, are very valuable. Enough so that the Empire would spare no effort to secure them. But there's no need for an annexation this time. Hux's smooth diplomacy - and apparently Ren's good looks - had won them a peaceful agreement.

Besides, any occupation forces on this planet would either have to carry extra cooling equipment, or have to rotate in frequent shifts. These beautiful flying creatures really aren't out there to get you - the weather of this planet takes care of that.

With this last thought still trailing through his mind Hux lets his eyes wander over the well-formed body of his companion - and in that moment, he notices the most unfair, the absolutely foulest thing he'd seen today. His rational brain screeches to a halt and evaporates in a puff of smoke. Hux grits his teeth in anger.

There's not a single drop of sweat on Ren's neck, or back, or even his upper lip. At no point on his entire body is the see-through fabric plastered to his skin. He's completely at ease, comfortable, and cool as a cucumber.

Ren follows his gaze, takes a stock of them both and then outright grins.

"I spent a large part of my training on desert planets," he explains. "Plus, there is a reason I wear five to six layers when aboard a starship. I never understood how you managed only in the regulation uniform and that greatcoat just thrown over your shoulders, not even worn properly."

A sudden idea forms itself in Hux's head, and he grins back. It's a predatory grin, focused, simple, and perhaps even a bit savage. The local mindset is rubbing off on him. It must be the heat... But he sticks to the idea, the perfect payback for all Kylo's teasing today.

"Let's bid our farewells," he says. "We're done here."

 _But I'm not done with you_ , he adds. Despite the blistering temperature in the room, Ren actually shivers.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you have the Lady of Wind. Crowned with a dragon crown, because they worship dragons. Obviously.


	3. III

Ren keeps shivering aboard the Imperial shuttle but this time it's not with anticipation. Their things have been already collected from the embassy and loaded onto the shuttle, and Ren goes straight to sorting through the bags in search of his customary black outfit. He's claimed a bench in Emperor's private cabin, his feet tucked under him to keep them away from the cold metal floor. The shuttle whirrs and shakes as it takes off and he lifts his hands to remove the jingling pendants from his headpiece. Hux's hand on his wrist stops him.

"Keep it for a little longer."

"I am cold," the Knight says, like a petulant child. Hux takes a deep and satisfying lungful of the cool, machine-regulated atmosphere inside the shuttle. Then he takes out his own greatcoat from the cabin storage closet and wraps it around Ren's shoulders.

"I look ridiculous," Ren reproaches even as he's pulling the lapels of the coat closer to his chest.

"You look like something I bought on a slave market," Hux agrees and enjoys the perfect blend of defiance and excitement that sparks in Kylo's eyes. Then the Knight drops his gaze demurely, assuming an apologetic tone.

"Their clothes are a bit scant–"

"–whorish," Hux corrects him,

"–okay, but don't ever tell them that," Kylo warns him, half-earnestly. "They adapt very quickly, and they are very impressionable. Next time you visit you might find they're wearing breeches and overcoats. You made a good impression on them, Emperor."

"I would think you were the one coming over big," Hux counters. "You really made an exhibition of yourself there."

"Did you like it?" Kylo leans forward, the coat falling open. The golden pendants brush over his shoulder, catch on the fabric and pull it lower, exposing more of his bare skin. "Everyone admiring the beauty of _your property–_ "

"Looking doesn't spoil the goods," Hux says lightly - but the tail end of that statement emerges unexpected and rough: "Touching might."

Kylo Ren leans back in the seat, huddling into the coat. He gives a non-committal shrug. "They are like that."

Not for the first time today, Hux wonders what exactly has his Enforcer been up too during this week. The Emperor and his diplomatic suite spent most of it going over the treaty either on the flagship or at the newly built embassy, while Ren... did a terrain reconnaissance, apparently. And bonded with the locals.

He looks calmer than he did a week ago when Hux last saw him in private. Where his meditation failed him, and even Hux's helping hand hadn't been enough, this planet and its mind-wiping heat might have been what Kylo needed. There's a bit of a far-away look in his eyes, the only expressive part of his still flawlessly made-up face.

"They've been teaching you unpowered flying," Hux makes the obvious connection.

"Gliding," Ren corrects, his eyes still full of wide horizons and bone-breaking heights. "It's very... focusing, cleansing. You have to feel the air, follow the wind, watch out for the rising currents... the wing reacts like an extension of your own body. At times, it feels like you're one with the air..."

It's like with the Force, Hux realises. He's not sensitive to this magic, the only thing he feels when he closes his eyes is a vague discomfort from sensory deprivation, but he's heard enough from Kylo by now to understand the appeal of this gliding exercise.

"I'm glad you enjoyed this planet." The words are out before Hux can think why it would be better to keep his mouth shut and it surprises him, the unprepared honesty of it. This shouldn't be a part of their game. The look Kylo shoots him is equal parts surprise and gratitude, and Hux feels the ground slipping from under his feet. He scrambles for a diversion.

"So you're the Imperial expert on their culture now?"

Kylo tilts his head and shrugs again. The golden rain sprig in his head catches on the upturned collar of the coat.

"A simple culture that befits their way of life. Beautiful and fierce songs. You should hear that. Especially their mating calls are legendary."

It's an obvious bait and Hux rises to it gladly. They're back in the game, on a safer ground.

"Did they sing them to you?"

"Oh, no. You know, to be an eligible mate, I would have to be able to give a flying fuck."

Hux frowns before it occurs to him, with growing sense of horrified hilarity, that Ren is being literal.

"Too much information, Ren," he groans. Kylo laughs. The shuttle vibrates as it exits the atmosphere.

 

*

 

The guards and hangar crew don't bat an eyelash when the Emperor's Enforcer and Master of the Knights of Ren exits the shuttle barefoot and wrapped in the Emperor's greatcoat that he can't quite keep closed around his considerably broader chest. Hux wonders if he's Force-manipulating them into not noticing.

The walk into Hux's quarters is a short one. They encounter no patrols and Hux definitely suspects that Ren might be diverting them through his mind tricks. There are less rules for public conduct between them these days but still their relationship hasn't been made public - not even an open secret.

Hux asks himself sometimes if Ren would want to change that. He's still not sure how much - and if even  - he would mind himself.

As soon as the door swishes closed behind Ren, Hux rounds on him and backs him into it. In his heeled boots he's almost the same height as a barefoot Ren - almost. Hux's nose comes right under Ren's ear.

"You don't even smell," he reproaches. It's unfair how well Ren had been faring on that hellish planet. Hux's skin feels scratchy, incrusted in his own filth. He pushes the coat off Ren's shoulders and watches the rise of goose bumps under the pitifully thin, see-through fabric hanging loosely on his upper arms.

"I'm going to take a shower," he announces. "You stay here. Just the way you are."

Ren sags into the door, pretty mauve lips drawn in a pout. "I'm going to be cold."

"It seems a pity that the Jedi are trained only on desert, hot planets," Hux says without mercy and Ren's eyes flash under the challenge. He straightens and flexes his muscles to keep himself from shivering.

"Good boy," Hux praises. "I'll make it up to you."

He grins to himself as he enters the 'fresher. Ren doesn't know the half of what's coming to him.     


	4. IV

In the 'fresher, Hux takes all the time he needs and then some. Feeling once more like a human being, he wraps a long bathrobe over his pink-scrubbed body and combs his hair, still wet and the colour of dark russet, away from his face. On his way through the bedroom he stops to retrieve a couple of items from their hiding place - a purchase he made some time ago, in a flash of inspiration but with no particular use in mind. Now it looks like it's been waiting for this day.

Ren is standing where Hux left him. The half-taken off coat is a poor barrier against the chilly air Hux prefers in his rooms. Ren's fingernails have taken on a bluish hue but he does not fidget to keep warm, exactly as he's been told.

Hux holds the items hidden behind his back as he approaches. "You asked me how I liked your choice of outfit," he begins conversationally.

Ren nods. His next breath comes a little shorter.

Hux clicks his tongue. "I did not," he says in the same, cool and detached tone. Ren has the cheek to smirk.

"It was unbecoming of you," Hux continues. "All that skin, laid out like a free buffet for them to touch."

"They didn't mean anything by it."

"But you meant everything by it, didn't you? I've seen right through your little scheme, and I said you were going to pay. Do you still want to?"

"Yes." As if the flush spreading over Ren's neck and the eager spark in his eyes aren't an answer enough.

"Then turn around."

The golden pendants around Ren's face jingle a little dissonant tune in the absence of other noise in the room, and then clink on the metal of the door as Ren leans his forehead against it, putting his feet wider and a bit back. It's clear what he's expecting and Hux has to bit his lip to hide his amusement. With his free hand, he pulls the coat off Ren, folds it in half with a practised flick of his wrist and lays it over a nearby chair.

"Brace your hands next to your head."

The broad, smooth expanse of Ren's back is in front of him, a clean canvas trembling for the first touch of colour. Hux can't resist to trace a graceful line of a trapezius, to blow a warm breath on a smattering of moles under one shoulder blade. Ren had asked him for a mark; well, he's going to get it.

"Well then," he mutters, more to himself, and lifts his hand. He watches the muscles between Ren's shoulder blades ripple with tension but otherwise Ren keeps admirably still - until the exact moment when the first touch he feels on his back isn't a bite of a whip or a stroke of a cane, but a soft, wet and cooling swipe of a brush.

 "Don't move," Hux snaps when Ren tries to look over his shoulder. "You're ruining the proportions."

Ren obediently turns to stare back into the door, spreads his shoulders wide and arches his back a bit. Better. Hux decides to reward him with an explanation.

"It's a metallic body paint," he swipes the brush in a wide circle, as regular as he can get on the uneven ground. Ren's back muscles keep twitching minutely, tensing and relaxing on their own volition. He is sensitive to the point of being ticklish, and the brush dances on his skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps in the wake of every stroke.

"Slave owners use it when they want to show off their favourite bedwarmers," Hux continues. "That way, anyone can appreciate the slave's... assets, but no one can really touch their skin."

Ren gasps softly when the brush dips into the hollow at the small of his back. Hux works slower now when the basic outline of the intended artwork is finished, taking his time with feather-light, teasing strokes, spreading the paint evenly over the black moles scattered over the olive skin. The pigment dries off quickly, clinging to Ren's skin in a thin, lustrous layer that looks as if Ren dipped his back in  a molten gold.

"Next time you want to show off like that, I want you to wear this," Hux finishes with a flourish and pats Ren's shoulder, indicating a full-length mirror on the wall next to the closet. Ren blinks with some difficulty - he's been on his way to drift under, Hux can tell.

Craning his neck and twisting his hips as well as he can, Ren admires the full Imperial insignia painted over his back. The radial pattern of the Order that gave rise to the Empire, wreathed in laurel, with the Emperor's stylised sigil in the centre of it.

"I like that," he breathes out. His face is still covered with the Naboo white powder but the flush underneath has spread into the middle of his chest, and his eyes are wide and shining.

"I thought you might," Hux agrees pleasantly. "Now, back to the position."

"Hux," Kylo groans even as he complies and Hux just knows he's not complaining about cold any more.

"Your back wasn't the only thing shamelessly exposed," he tuts and nudges Ren's elbow, indicating that he should place his palms higher on the door surface. The silky material of the top falls down on his shoulders and Hux's brush has now a free reign over the whole length of Ren's arms.

Ren is breathing erratically when Hux is finally satisfied with the even shade of gold that now covers his arms. From the back of his fingers, over the soft skin of his elbows and the swell of his biceps, all the way up his deltoids. And still he's not allowed to move. Instead, Hux drops into a crouch behind him, puts the can of paint on the floor, and pushes aside the edge of the slit in those ridiculous trousers. Ren nearly jumps when he feels the first touch of brush on his skin, taut over the tendon above his heel.

"Keep still," Hux admonishes him, gentler than he would have done only a month ago. The brush swirls over the bulge of firm muscle at the back of a calf, catching on the sparse hair that grows there. The hollow in the back of Ren's knees is hairless, the skin thin and pale, the vein underneath fluttering with rapid pulse. The hair on the back of Ren's thigh is coarser, darker, and Hux's brush doesn't miss an inch. Above him, Ren is panting, the shiny pendants of his headpiece accompanying every twitch of his body with a fresh peal of sweet, traitorous jingling.   

Both trouser legs are slit all the way up and Hux takes full advantage of this. Their cut is loose, giving him enough room to work.

"This belt is the only thing about this costume I like," he traces the broad swath of golden fabric wrapped from over Ren's hipbones down to his upper thighs, basically the only thing protecting his modesty. From his vantage point, he can see that the damn scoundrel isn't wearing anything underneath it.

"I thought you might," Kylo pants, trying to shoot Hux's words back at him and failing laughably, his voice too hoarse for any attempt at cheek. Still, it's the attempt that needs to be squished, and Hux presses his mouth into the soft skin on the juncture of arse and thigh and bites down, sharp and quick, blows on the spot to dry off any trace of spit and covers the rapidly blooming mark with gold. Above him, Kylo is trembling, gritting his teeth so hard that Hux can hear the gnash.

"None of that," he pats the underside of the other thigh and gives it the same treatment. "I want to hear you."

"Hux," Kylo lets out a full-fledged whine this time, breaking into a moan when Hux straightens, slides his hand around Kylo's waist, under the loose top, and spans his fingers over the quivering muscles of his abdomen. The paint dries the second it is applied so the state of his bathrobe doesn't concern him when he plasters his front against Kylo's golden back, from knees to chest, rising on his toes to whisper in Kylo's ear.

"Strip, and get on the bed," he orders softly. "Lie on your back."

Ren looks at him with alarm in his huge, dark eyes.

"There's still a good half of the paint left," Hux shakes the can to emphasise his point. Ren whimpers. His hair, styled into a complicated arrangement of braids, is already wet at the roots, and his white make-up is smudged with along the hairline and around the bridge of his nose. Hux cannot keep the gleeful grin from spreading over his face. His plan is coming along beautifully. Tonight, he will make Ren sweat.


	5. V

Naked and aroused Ren spread on the Emperor's bed is a sight to be savoured, Hux decides. He's put aside the frivolous headpiece and freed his hair from the clutches of numerous pins and clasps, and Hux runs his fingers briefly through the locks, nails scraping along Ren's skull. Such a strong bone, he thinks fondly. It takes an age to drive home a lesson through a skull that thick. But then, Hux is a patient man.

Under his methodical and excruciatingly thorough attention Ren slowly turns into a golden demigod. Or into a ruin of a man. It depends on which part you look. Hux spends long minutes on the hollow of his throat, the ridges of his clavicles, every bulge and dip of his chest. He shows no mercy when coating his sensitive sides, broad strokes spreading the paint over the landscape of his abdomen and swirling around his navel, all the way down to the patch of dark hair - but no further.

He leaves out certain parts on purpose. For one, he doesn't want to risk the small possibility of heatstroke caused by clogging every single pore of Ren's skin. For two, he has plans with those parts. Ren's palms, now littered with half-moon red marks as he digs his fingernails into the flesh, trying to keep still. His long, enticing throat, exposed and convulsing with every swallow. His pretty cock, heavy and twitching between his legs.

Hux takes extra care not to touch any of it as he moves down the bed to start on Ren's toes, long and curling involuntarily, and then going back up, over insteps, ankles, lean lines of the calves, bony bumps of the knees. When he arrives to the insides of Ren's thighs, the whines and moans from above him take on inhuman quality. Hux lets the last drops of paint trickle down the crease between thigh and groin and puts the empty can and the no longer useful brush on the bedside table. He sits down on the bed, next to his artwork but well out of touch, and properly admires his work.

Ren is a wreck. His hair is in tangles, snarled from the ceaseless tossing of his head on the sheets. The make-up around his mouth is ruined from repeated biting and wetting of his lips, and there are trails of tears running from the corners of his eyes down onto his temples. Hux knows it takes Ren about half an hour, if not more, to turn his face into the paragon of Naboonian beauty standards, and seeing it so messed up gives him an odd sort of satisfaction - especially in contrast with the smooth metallic perfection of Hux's own creation.

"Hux!"

"Do you need anything, my lovely golden boy?" Hux isn't even trying to hide the cackle from his voice.

"Yes!" Ren's glare would be more convincing if he didn't look like a trembling, sweaty ball of need. "Touch me, fuck me, anything, just _please_ –"

"Well, since you beg so nicely..." And Hux shucks off his robe, grabs the lubricant from the bedside table, pours the oily liquid liberally over Ren's cock, straddles his hips and sinks down on Ren before the poor man can as much as cry out in surprise.

Which he does, oh how he does. Ren's back arches off the bed and his hands fly up, the 'don't move' rule forgotten, and attach themselves to whichever part of Hux's body they encounter first - a handful of a hip and a death grip on a forearm. Ren's hands are big and Hux likes the way they span around him but now he has to hiss in warning - and Ren immediately lets go, rubbing his thumbs over the quickly blooming imprints in a silent apology. Hux sometimes hates that his skin bruises so darkly, breaks so easily.

Hux circles his hips, suppresses another hiss and slides lower. The burn isn't exactly enjoyable, but his preparation earlier in the 'fresher pays off now. He takes in another inch of Ren's length and gives him a firm shove in the middle of his chest. Ren's head falls back onto the mattress with a soft _thump_.

They don't do this often. Ren is usually too insatiable for anything Hux is willing to give and Hux, for his part, likes the thrill of the thought that Ren - the powerful Knight, that storm of a man, that strong and menacing figure inflicting fear on foes and allies alike - will bend over for him. Submit to him, beg for him. But there is something rare and incomparable to see Ren under him like this, to physically feel Ren's thin self-control disintegrate with every twitch of that lovely cock inside him, to take his pleasure from Ren's body and watch him lose the battle with the overwhelming sensations.

"You did fairly well tonight," Hux says, voice only a little grittier than usual, and rocks back and forth in the cradle of Ren's hips. "Who would have thought, when I first met you, that one day I would commend you on your self-control?"

Ren garbles something incomprehensible and then summons the strength to grin. His stomach muscles are clenched rock-hard but his hips are still. Though he may be the least docile submissive in the entire Galaxy, he knows better than to move before he's told.

"But there's always room for improvement, I think," Hux adds and leans forward to brace both hands on Ren's shoulders. "You're not to come before I tell you, is that clear?"

 "Yes," Ren breathes, all his air spent on this single syllable exhale when Hux clenches his pelvis muscles, just to make it more of a challenge.

Hux leans back, savouring the full stretch and the stimulation in all the right places. "And no cheating using the Force," he warns for good measure.

Ren's hands travel up and down Hux's hips, light caresses begging him to move where words to that effect are forbidden. Hux will start when he will start and not a second sooner. The pause settles him a bit, he watches Hux with half-lidded eyes and something like a wistful smile.

"You enjoy stripping me of my only power," he observes quietly.

 _Of course_ , Hux wants to retort _, that's the point of domination,_ when something about that phrasing stops him cold.

"Your only..." Hux shakes his head. Beneath him, the strong, powerful, beautiful man looks up to him with eyes that never saw himself as such. The sizzling arousal that has been spreading along Hux's spine fades, replaced by a tightness in his chest that has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with the bewildering man beneath him.

For all Hux's experience, something in him shrinks at the realisation that perhaps it's him who'd missed a certain finer point of domination.

 _Oh for fuck's sake_ , Hux thinks and leans forward, framing Kylo's face with both hands.

"If you think that your Force-sensitivity is your only worth, you're even bigger fool than I thought," he says, low and insistent. He stops whatever Kylo is trying to say with a thumb across his lips. "You're so much more, Kylo. You're..."

Hux runs out of words. He isn't ready for this. This isn't supposed to happen tonight - ever, if Hux has his way. But somehow, against Hux's better judgment, it is happening. And he has no words - how could he? Perhaps once he was born to this language like every human being but he's outgrown it, and there's no manual to re-learn it, nobody to teach him, except for... But Kylo is waiting, eyes shiny with tears that don't come from pleasure-pain and Hux hates them, and _fuck this, having a cock up my arse makes me maudlin_ , and Hux stares into his lover's eyes and whispers:

"Kylo... just listen, all right? Listen."

And Hux opens that closed door in his mind, just a crack, only as much as he dares, and sifts through the debris of words he'd crushed and wiped and stashed there over the months, lets them crystallise out of the pulp and pours the crystals into the outstretched palm of Kylo's mind.

Kylo stares at him for a second, uncomprehending, and then he makes a sound - not of pain, but more like of a pain that suddenly stopped to hurt, and something stops hurting in Hux's chest in response. Then Kylo surges up and kisses him, wet and sloppy and desperate, sucking more words out of Hux's mouth and breathing in some of his own. The words are not perfect, and perhaps nothing ever will be, but Hux thinks that this might be as close as they're going to get.

"You," Kylo gets out when he resurfaces for air. Hux bites onto his lip to silence him. He's had enough of emotion to make him feel raw all over. He needs to get back on safe ground.

"For example, I don't think the Force had anything to do with you having such a nice cock," he quips and rolls his hips to illustrate his point. Beneath him, Kylo laughs, a wet sound that's one wishful thought away from a sob.

Hux takes pity - on Kylo, on himself, he's lost the perspective to see the difference - and begins to move, quick snaps of his hips, every drag inside him pulling him back into his body, building up the familiar sensations like walls around his raw, shivering core. But something is different tonight. Perhaps Kylo has left a foot between the door Hux cracked open for him - give the boy an inch and he'll take a mile - and it creates a feedback loop between them, amplifying everything, it's so good that it _hurts_ , and Hux... Hux loses it.

When he comes back to himself, the golden sculpture of Kylo's chest beneath him is painted with white streaks of come, the shiny coat of gold cracked in many spots where sweat broke through, and Kylo's face is a smudged mess of white and mauve, both of which Hux is sure he's got on his own face too. The sheets around them are stained with the sweat-thinned paint trickling off Kylo's body. By some miracle, Kylo is still hard, eyes unfocused and mouth open on a steady litany of _Hux_ and _please._

Hux lifts off him and shakes his head to clear his vision. Then he lies down next to Kylo, puts his mouth on a little clean patch of skin just over his pulse point, wraps his hand around Kylo's cock and brings him off, mouthing _mine_ and _beautiful_ through Kylo's skin right into his bloodstream, and when he feels him tense and snap under his hand, he sinks his teeth in and holds on, holds on through the spasm and through the gasps and through the aftershock, until he tastes blood.

*

"It probably won't scar," Kylo observes, feeling around the bite on his neck with reverent fingertips after he finishes wiping off his face with the towel Hux brought him.

"We can make sure it will," Hux offers. It's bending the rules, it goes against a principle that he once thought being unmovable, but a lot of rule-breaking has happened tonight. He runs a hand through his hair, realising too late that his fingers are smeared with gold flecks that peeled off Kylo's skin and that it will be one hell of washing it out. He glares at Ren as if it's his fault. The glare bounces off the sheer bliss in Kylo's face and wilts, harmless, somewhere on the floor.

"You are a mess," he says, recovering some of his sternness. The sheets are beyond saving, Ren is one big battlefield of peeling gold, sweat and come, and he never looked happier.

"Yes, but I am _your_ mess," Kylo purrs and curls around Hux's waist, like a big cat. Wrong, Hux thinks. It's _our_ mess. His orderly mind should probably rebel at this. It doesn't.

     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear this was planned as a PWP. But as my friend said, a story has to be what it has to be.

**Author's Note:**

> For fic, art, Kylux and SW meta and occasional crack you can follow me at [ sinningsquire on Tumblr ](http:%5C%5Csinningsquire.tumblr.com). 
> 
> If you liked this, a comment would be nice! And if you're too shy, the 'Share' button up there works also fine.


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